


Lazarus Rising

by CinderScoria



Category: GTLive, RPF - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF, escape the night - Fandom
Genre: Gen, I haven't posted anything in over a year leave me alone, bandwagon's full pls catch another, hey look it's another revival story, not really but Matt does wake up in a coffin so like..... take from that what you will, obviously spoilers up till s3e6 of Escape the Night, so like. read with caution my dude, the Major Death warning there is for canonical deaths don't worry, tw: claustrophobia, we all know it's gonna be Matt right? right ok cool just checking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 07:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderScoria/pseuds/CinderScoria
Summary: Matt comes back to life with a mission of his own.





	Lazarus Rising

**Author's Note:**

> *throws this at the fandom, disappears just as fast*

Matt never really imagined dying like this.

He gasps around the Strong Man’s grip on his throat, the force of it crushing his windpipe with apparent ease, as he focuses on the group’s retreating backs. “Look for the coin!” he shouts, with what breath he has left. “Look for the Lazarus coin!”

He’s not stupid. He knows the stories. He’d known what the harp will do the second he heard the name. And maybe his death won’t be in vain. Maybe they’ll bring him back, or the SAE lady, or someone who can help them all escape.

Maybe.

“Matt!”

His vision is blurred by tears but he can see Ro lingering behind, watching him. 

“Matt, no!”

_ Please don’t let her see this, _ he pleads to no one as he’s half-pushed, half-carried towards the ground. Then Manny’s there, ushering her away.  _ Good. He’ll take care of her. _

It’s all very slow and very fast. He doesn’t even remember the pain. All he can think of is Stephanie, and how he’s leaving her to raise Ollie alone, and that he hopes Ro makes it out of this alive, and—

And then there are hands grasping his forearms, steadying him. Matt sucks in lungfuls of air, brown eyes darting wildly from face to face as he tries to focus on the crowd of people before him.

“Give him some space,” comes a voice that’s vaguely familiar. Matt whips his head that way and recognizes Shane Dawson, the other man kneeling before him with a crooked smile.

“Welcome to the best of the rest, Matt,” he says, voice warm despite by his words. 

“What the hell?”

“Not quite.” Shane smirks. “No guarantees that isn’t the final destination, though.”

Matt comes to the conclusion fairly quickly, considering. “I’m dead.”

“You and everybody else, pal.”

Matt blinks and looks towards his right, where JC is watching him. He suddenly feels utterly sick. “JC,” he mutters, “oh my god I’m so sorry, I’m the one who—”

“—voted for me, I know,” JC says good-naturedly. “I’m not mad about it.”

“You’re… you’re not?”

“Nah. Especially since from the looks of it, you guys are having a rough time without me.”

That’s certainly true. Matt climbs to his feet and surveys the group of people in front of him. They’re all Youtubers—dressed in odd period costumes, some reminiscent of the twenties, some of the Victorian era. Some of the more famous ones he recognizes (Gabbie and Tana stand near the back of the group gossiping, GloZell is peering at him with suspicion, Liza is taking a nap, Alex and Lauren stand as a unified front off to one side, and—oh no, even Lele Pons is here, he  _ really _ hopes she hasn’t seen his criticism of her Locks of Love “donation”). The ones closest to him are Shane, JC, Teala and Roi (both of whom smile at him, like they’re genuinely happy to see him, and he finds himself smiling back), and iJustine, which is a bit of a surprise.

They’re all in a sunny wheatfield, at the base of a large, gnarled cork tree. Beyond them are more people milling about, these ones unfamiliar to him. It feels oddly like a waiting room.

He meets Shane’s eyes again. “This is everyone who died after being invited to something by Joey?”

Shane raises both brows in a show of sarcasm. "Give the man a medal.”

“It’s not Joey’s fault,” says Justine, standing directly behind Shane. Her voice is soft but her eyes are hard, daring Matt to disagree. “He didn’t know this would happen.”

Matt frowns at her. “He knew this time. Or he had to have suspected.”

“No, he knew,” Shane agrees, giving Justine a look. “But she’s right, this isn’t entirely his fault. He’s had evil growing inside him for a while now. You might be our last hope to cleanse it before it takes over completely.”

“Me?”

Shane pushes gently on his shoulder, taking him back a step, into the shade from the cork tree overhead. “Yes. You.”

“The Harp of Lazarus.” Matt pulls a hand through his hair and notices for the first time that he’s in his Detective uniform, not the tee and gym shorts he’d been forced to die in. “It might not be me,” he argues. “It could be JC. Or Roi, or Teala, even.”

“Nah,” JC says again. He’s lounging on the yellowed grass, looking like he wants to join Liza in naptime. “It’s definitely you.”

Matt swallows. “Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

“Hey,” Shane says, catching his gaze. “You can do this. We’ve been watching you, we’ve seen what you can do. And we’ve seen how you try to protect everyone in the group, even if you don’t always agree with them.” He tilts his head towards the ground. “They might not see it, but we do. You’re worthy of it, Matt.”

Matt doesn’t know what to say to that. “What do I have to do?”

“Remind Joey who his friends are.” Shane takes a step back, out into the morning sunlight. “Oh, and stay alive, of course.”

“Great advice, thanks,” Matt says dryly.

“Don’t die in the last challenge,” is Alex’s suggestion.

“If Joey gets voted in, none of the “safe” players are actually safe,” says GloZell, lips twisted like she’d sucked on something sour.

“And be wary of the Society Against Evil,” Shane warns, dead serious. “They’re not who you think they are.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Shane sighs. “I wish we had more time. There’s so much to tell you, and we can’t do much from up here but watch.” He turns his face towards the sky, as if sensing something. His lips pull into a frown. “And the new arrival is coming.”

Matt knows too, because of course the death wouldn’t stop with his, but the dread that follows Shane’s statement makes him instantly sick. “But, wait—”

It’s too late. The sky darkens around him, casting the other dead Youtubers in shadow. He feels a pull in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly he’s falling backwards, plummeting at a terrifying speed towards—

Soft. Dark. Matt’s eyes fly open again (when had he squeezed them shut?) and he realizes that he can’t see. He can’t move, either—the walls around him are oppressively close, leaving him no wiggle room on either side. He’s lying on something soft, almost a bed. The air is stale, though, and warm, and when he tries to sit up, his forehead knocks right into the ceiling before he can get anywhere near upright.

The pieces fall into place all at once. A coffin. He’s in a coffin.

Matt lies there for two minutes just focusing on breathing evenly so he doesn’t panic. He could try to figure out how much air he has by measuring the dimensions of the box he’s trapped in, but for the moment he really needs to make sure he doesn’t immediately freak out if he tries to move.

The silence is almost loud. There’s nothing but the sound of his deep, even breaths echoing in his ears. The urge to cry is overwhelming, but Matt knows if he allows himself to get upset he’ll lose the precious oxygen he’s trying to retain.

Still alive. He’s still alive. Or rather, he’s alive  _ again. _ Already the conversation he’d had with Shane and the other Youtubers is fading from his memory, as if it’d never happened, but he stubbornly holds onto his mission.

Stop Joey from becoming fully evil. Don’t trust the SAE. Get out alive.

Easy peasy. If he can get out of this coffin first.

Matt takes one more deep breath, before reaching up with his fingers to explore the seams of the coffin. It’d be damn near impossible to punch his way out, or push the lid of the coffin up into the dirt, but if he can somehow work the hinges off and  _ slide _ the lid sideways, that might do the trick.

Of course, it means dirt will fill up the coffin and eat up his oxygen at a much faster rate, but he’s willing to risk that if it means escaping.

He does some quick math. If he’s being generous and very careful, he might have around five hours of oxygen in this coffin. His entire body trembles at the thought of spending hours in this confined space, but he doesn’t allow himself to panic, not yet. He has to get out of here first.

Carefully, he uses his fingernails to tear the cloth on either side of him, getting to the hard-packed wood of the box he’s in. From there he finds the hinges are on his left, and they’re nailed in, rather than screwed. That gives him some faint hope—all he needs is a wedge and he’ll be golden.

_ Golden Freddy golden. _ The thought’s irrational, but he chuckles at it anyway, and goes to work.

Luckily, he’d been buried in his Detective attire. It takes some maneuvering, because this coffin is  _ absurdly _ small, but he manages to get his belt off. It’s too dark to really see, and he doesn’t have a lighter or a cell phone to give him any sort of help, but he feels the metal buckle and realizes that it might be too thick to wedge between the nail and the plate of the hinge. So instead he starts to feel for his yellow tinted sunglasses. They’re in the inside pocket of his jacket, and he shakes his head, wondering if the people who buried him had undressed and then re-dressed him in this uniform or if some kind of magical BS was involved. Interestingly enough, his badge is missing, but Matt isn’t too concerned about that right now. He has what he needs.

The wire of the sunglasses is surprisingly sturdy. Matt uses his fingernails to wriggle the first nail loose enough to slip the wire beneath it. With patience he didn’t know he had, he works the nail up so that the space is big enough for the buckle to fit inside it. After some thought, he repeats this process to the other nail and then the nails on the hinge at his feet (which ends up being harder, considering he has to basically pretzel himself to get to it).

“Okay,” he whispers into the inky blackness, just to settle his nerves. How to go about this. He doesn’t have the room to use his body weight as leverage and  _ pull _ the nail from the plate, even with the belt buckle aiding him.

Leverage, then, is what he needs. Matt thinks for a moment, and then takes off his wedding ring. He can’t see it in the dark, but he knows the feel of it like it’s an extension of his own hand. For a brief second he’s overwhelmed by the grief of the knowledge that he may never see Stephanie again. Even with this second chance he’s been granted, there’s a high probability of him dying again. Matt brings the ring to his lips and kisses it, then sets his jaw.

He’ll make it back to her. Or he’ll die trying.

He places the ring flat against the wood and places the belt buckle on top, using the ring as a fulcrum.  _ Thank you, simple machines, _ he thinks, slipping the buckle between the plate and the nail. Then he pushes down on the other side. The nail resists at first, and then slides out with a  _ shink. _

“Yes!”

The next three nails take fifteen minutes to work loose. By the time the last one falls to the soft cushion he’s lying on, he’s ready to actually cry. He’s wasted so much time already, and who knows who was killed during the time he spent dead, and they only have so long before the sun comes up and the Carnival Master is released from his prison.

Matt takes a second to breathe. Then he slips his ring back on his finger and studies the lid, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. He’s not going to have a lot of time as soon as the dirt starts spilling in.

_ I don’t have a lot of time regardless, _ he acknowledges grimly. So he braces his back against the cushion and places both palms flat against the lid, shoulder-width apart. Lift, and then slide. If he’s six feet under, he’ll need a hell of a lot of force in order to shift the dirt enough to raise the lid. He’s not sure he’s strong enough for that.

The irony of this situation, of not being strong enough both to keep from dying and fighting to live again, isn’t lost on him. This almost feels like a bench press.

Matt considers this comparison, then draws his knees up as best he can with the space allowed, trying to keep his feet flat on the floor of the coffin to give him some extra leverage. With a nod, he takes a deep breath and pushes.

The lid doesn’t budge for a solid ten seconds. Matt wants to scream, but then he feels it give, just the tiniest bit. He wiggles the lid, trying to work the packed dirt loose. His arms start to shake. Luckily the pain from going through the Strong Man’s challenges didn’t follow him to his afterlife and rebirth, otherwise this would be twenty times harder.

Dirt trickles in as cracks appear between the lid and the box Matt is trapped in. Matt doesn’t have the energy or the air to cheer. Instead he pushes down on the floor, using the leverage to lift the lid further up, and then ease it to one side.

The dirt is  _ cold, _ is his first thought as it floods his space. Matt doesn’t have the time to panic about it, it’s already in his face, his eyes, his hair, his clothes. He manages to gasp in one more breath before it swallows him whole, and he already knows it won’t be enough. Matt flails an arm towards what he hopes is the surface, trying to find the ground so he can pull himself to safety.  _ Dig, I have to dig, _ he thinks in a panic, but doing so is harder than it sounds, and terror is locking his limbs.

_ I can’t believe I’m about to die half an hour after I came back to life. _

His hand breaks the surface. Whoever had buried him didn’t do it six feet under. More like four. Matt wants to sob in relief, but he still can’t breathe. He tries to pull himself up but his fingers can’t find anything to grasp onto, until—

Something, someone grabs his hand and  _ yanks. _ Matt is pulled from the dirt like an oversized carrot, coughing and sputtering and gasping. Everything is really loud all of a sudden. There are hands grabbing at his shoulders and face, another hand pounding him on the back as he hacks up the dirt in his lungs.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re alive.” It’s Manny. Manny’s the one in front of him, brushing dirt from his eyes and forehead. Matt focuses on him, surprised to see unshed tears in the other man’s eyes. Behind him is Nikita, who’s watching him coldly, warily. Joey’s the one at his back, pounding it to help him cough.

They’re in a cemetery, one Matt hadn’t even noticed in the town. It’s still nighttime. Matt looks around in a daze as Joey stands and shouts for Ro.

Manny ignores the fact that Matt’s covered head to toe in dirt, pulling him into a crushing hug. Matt finds himself hugging back as Manny chokes out, rapidfire, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t regret that I won but I’m sorry you died, okay, I didn’t mean to kill you, please don’t be mad at me—”

“Manny,” Matt manages, and the Record Producer pulls back looking incredibly upset. Matt pats him on the shoulder. “I don’t blame you. You were fighting for your life, it’s okay.”

Nikita softens a bit from where she’s standing at Manny’s back, which leads Matt to conclude that she’d been wary of his reaction to Manny being the one to inadvertently kill him. He gives her a nod, and she nods back, smiling faintly.

Manny lingers for another second before he releases him, and Matt climbs to his feet, only to be knocked backwards by the sheer force that is Rosanna Pansino.

Something clicks, right back into place. Everything slows down a bit. Ro clings to him, her face buried in his chest, shaking as she finally lets herself cry. Matt brings his arms up to clutch her to him, stunned by the reaction. They’ve always been close, she’s like the little (big?) sister he’s never had, but this…

Everyone gives them space as Matt brings his hand up to run it through Ro’s hair. “Hey,” he murmurs, “it’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she says, muffled by his jacket. Her voice is full of tears. She’s refusing to even look at him. “It’s not okay. It’s nowhere near okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” She pulls out of his grasp, eyes blazing with rage and grief. Something has changed about her. He can’t put his finger on it quite yet, but something isn’t right.

“You died,” she continues, voice cracking, “you died and I had to—we needed you and you died and I—I had to figure out how I was supposed to go on without you and I can’t—” She’s stumbling over the words, not making any sense.

“I’m  _ sorry,” _ he says again, firmer, because he wasn’t sure what he meant when he said it the first time but he knows now. “I didn’t want to leave you. I never wanted you to go through that, I never wanted to be the reason for that. I’m sorry, Ro.”

She sniffles. Her cheeks are wet as she searches his face for any hint of a lie, before hugging him again, a bit more gently this time.

It takes another second, but they really can’t afford to linger and Ro knows it too. Matt  looks at Safiya as she approaches him.

“You were right about the Lazarus coin,” she says, and he shrugs modestly. She aims a punch at his shoulder. “Glad you’re back,” she says, and the words are plain but the emotion behind them has Matt pulling her into a hug as well. Safiya, surprised by the gesture, doesn’t hug back at first, before twisting her fingers in the material of his jacket.

“We needed you,” she whispers in his ear. Matt nods as he releases her, looking her dead in the eye.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. He surveys the group: Safiya in front of him, Ro tucked into his side, Manny, Nikita, and Joey some feet away. His heart sinks. “Colleen?”

The atmosphere drops. Ro turns and buries her face in his chest again. Safiya lifts her chin, but her voice trembles when she says, “A sacrifice was needed to cleanse the last artifact.”

Matt frowns. “There was no challenge?”

“No.” She doesn’t look happy about it. “It was… pretty much unanimous.”

_ Jesus. _ The grief strikes him harder than he thought it would. Pretty much unanimous? Even Ro? He glances down at the Jetsetter as she cries. Even Ro then, God.

He looks at Joey and has zero doubts that he’s responsible. Shane’s words echo in his ear. “Shane Dawson says hello,” he says, watching for Joey’s reaction.

Joey’s a pretty good actor, but even he can’t stop the shock that crosses his face. Everyone else looks confused, but Matt’s known this for a while now. A lot of Youtubers had dropped off the map a couple months back, not just Joey. Now that he knows what they all had in common, it makes sense.

He takes a deep breath. “So does Justine.”

And there, that is what he was looking for: the pure, unadulterated grief that flickers in Joey’s eyes before he shuts down completely. “Joey, what is he talking about?” Nikita asks, suspicious, though Matt isn’t sure if she’s suspicious of him or of Joey.

Joey swallows. “I can explain—”

“No,” says Matt, pressing his lips together, and Joey goes instantly silent. 

If he’s going to save Joey, and in turn save everyone else, he has to be smart about it. That grief, right there, confirmed that Shane was right. Joey isn’t too far gone yet. He can save him, pull him back, keep him from becoming fully evil.

Remind him who his friends are. Stay alive. Matt can do this. He has to.

He takes a deep breath, squeezing Ro’s arm once before taking a step towards Joey. He puts a hand on his shoulder, looking him straight in the face. He can do this. He needs to be able to pull this off. “They told me to tell you that it’s not your fault.”

Joey wasn’t expecting that. He stares at Matt another second, fighting to keep his composure, and Matt feels a pang of sympathy. Joey just needs help. He just needs some guidance. “We’re gonna get through this,” he tells him. “Okay?”

Another beat, and then Joey’s face crumbles. Matt doesn’t hesitate, and he’s been hugging a lot of people anyway, so even though Joey’s definitely struggling with some serious bloodthirst, all Matt sees is a scared kid who doesn’t want to die. And maybe he’ll have to work to be able to forgive him for this (because he’s right, Joey might not have known before but he knew this time around, and that’s a hard pill to swallow), but that doesn’t mean he can’t help him. So Matt lets Joey fall apart in his arms, and isn’t surprised when the rest of the group closes in to join in on the hug.

They don’t have time to grieve just yet, not for JC or Roi, not for Teala or Colleen, not for the knowledge that more of them will have to die before the night is over. But for now, in this brief second between fear and pain and suffering, they can breathe and be okay with each other.

Matt looks up to find Calliope and Mortimer gazing at him, each with equally grim expressions, and knows this can’t last. But he’ll save Joey. He’ll save the others, defeat the Carnival Master, save this town, and get back to Stephanie and his son. He’ll do it.

Or he’ll die trying.


End file.
